Baggage Claim
by Ferowyn
Summary: Christopher Pike has a lot of emotional baggage becuase, frankly, Starfleet shrinks just suck. And Jim Kirk is not exactly making it any better.


**Baggage Claim**

You are staring at your perfectly clean, barely scarred hands, and wonder whether you are the only one who can see the blood on them.

Of course, in a way, you know that lightning storms, and anomalies, and insane Romulans were not your fault. Talking your best friend into signing up for a _USS Kelvin_ crew posts, however, was. Somehow, you are aware that your wish to serve under Robau was probably what saved those 800 lives, for there are few men like George Kirk with Starfleet these days. Men who do not hesitate to sacrifice their own lives in order to save someone else's; men who fly into certain death, despite finally having gotten what they had been wishing for all their lives.

Because that had always been George's dream: A family. Sons he could take care of. A wife he loved.

And still he had thrown all this away, never faltering in his determination, had sacrificed said perfect happy family idyll for the sake of his crew. Who, really, were kind of his family as well, like any proper First Officer's.

Sometimes you think that Robau should have made _you_ acting Captain, for you would not have left anyone behind but your best friend. Instead your best friend left you behind, along with his wife and sons. So, really, it would have been better the other way round.

You cannot tell, though, whether it would have been the right decision. After all, who knows if you would have acted all heroically, like George did?

Only too well do you remember the fear, the panic, the icy grip around your heart that you had felt that day, just like all the other crewmembers; the frightening knowledge of being at the mercy of a clearly superior enemy. That one image, a huge, dark ship that could have swallowed yours, has been burned into your retina, never to be forgotten.

Maybe, you think, you would _not_ have been the hero.

But as it is that does not matter, because George _was_ the hero, and he is dead now, and you are still feeling responsible for it.

You do also feel guilty for not looking after the rest of the Kirk family, but Winona, who used to be a dear friend, had made very clear that she never wanted to have anything to do with Starfleet ever again, and you had been way too occupied with your own emotional baggage then to even try and fight with her. You still are, actually.

That image of the _Narada_, and the small local explosion that had once been the _Kelvin_ and George, seen through a tiny, fogged shuttle window, is still pursuing your dreams. Even after so many years.

So, yes, your baggage is pretty impressive.

* * *

Which is probably why you feel a little sick the first time you meet him, before managing to pull yourself together.

Being born into a disaster, knowing that your father died so that you could live, must also be heavy baggage, you imagine.

You actually see it in his eyes, his striking, too-blue eyes, that are currently staring at you from upside down, with an unreadable emotion carved deep into those consuming orbs. His eyes, that are somehow reaching through that wall you have built around your emotions, reaching_ you_.

Unfortunately you are well aware that you have been avoiding him, _this_, for a disappointingly long time, despite thinking of yourself as a person who does not run. So you sit yourself down across from him, after making sure that his nose is no longer attempting to flood the place, because you know that this conversation is necessary, and long overdue. That you actually owe him this. Because Winona being crazy with pain, and you being damaged is no excuse for letting the boy be damaged as well, even more than he already is.

You claim that it was the bartender who told you who he is, despite the fact that you recognized him the moment you saw him. After all, you _have_ been checking up on his files every once in a while, trying to appease your conscience, and although it has been quite some time sincs the last picture has been taken the resemblance is clear as day.

He stares at you, obviously unhappy with being compared to his father on first sight.

Gulping, you try not to imagine what Winona's loss might have done to her family; and instead you try to talk him into joining Starfleet. You are actually not really sure why exactly you are doing that, probably because it is the only way you can think of that might help him to come to grips with his life. Besides, it is also the only way you will be able to keep an eye on him. Because now that you have met him you are not going to let him slip away back into nothingness just like that without even trying to hold him. He intrigues you, in a way that you cannot really determine, and that freaks you out, but still. Also, you _do_ want to help him in order to relieve your conscience just a little.

In what ways Kirk attending the Academy might interact with your own baggage you cannot say.

He, clearly, is not exactly excited about the idea of him joining Starfleet. You kind of understand him. In his story, Starfleet must be one of the villains. And you do not know what Winona might have told him.

Actually, sometimes you are wondering yourself why _you_ are still with Starfleet, why you are still venturing out in the black after you have seen what can happen, even in Federation territory. So much about Space is still undiscovered, and the dangers are immensely greater than any of the cadets are ever being told. You have tried to convince yourself that you stayed because of George, that you are trying to live the life you had been planning to live together, that you are preserving the memory of him. When you are honest with yourself, though, you know that you just _need_ the risks, the kick. That adrenaline is the only way to keep the nightmares from tormenting you even when you are awake.

Starfleet shrinks are pretty impressively incompetent.

Tiredly you concentrate on him again. You are well aware that the situation is far from perfect for convincing an unwilling boy with a history of joining Starfleet. And Kirk really, obviously, is not convinced.

So you get up and leave, but already in the doorway you realize that this is a little like losing George all over again, and that you kind of like _him_, too, his defiant, pert self, not just that he is his father's son. Hence you turn around and do the one thing you actually hate doing, the one thing that is rather manipulative and feels _wrong_, the one thing that might change his mind:

You challenge him by dragging George into the whole ordeal.

When he shows up at Riverside Shipyard the next day you are not really surprised.

You do feel bad, though. Well. A little worse than anyway.

* * *

Getting Kirk to join Starfleet was one of the best and worst ideas you have had in 23 years.

You have made sure to be made his academic advisor, and having him around you so often is as much devastating as it is healing. You are spending most of your time teaching and recruiting now, waiting for _your_ ship, the _USS Enterprise_, to be finished up.

In the beginning Kirk is rather reluctant to talk to you, something between stubborn and suspicious and defiant. You make it your purpose to open him up, and you need it as much as he does. After all, there is no adrenaline easily available at the moment, with the ship that will provided it still in the shipyard, and you need something, or some_one_, to concentrate on, to push all your efforts into.

Thus you are spending days pouring over schedules, writing an endless amount of requests, in order to get him through his education as quickly as possible. He said three years, and if you can, you are going to help him with that in every way you know.

Also, somehow, deep down, you want him to be done when the _Enterprise_ is ready to roll. You have gotten used to him, to _caring_ about him, and you do not want to leave him behind. Not even when you are going back to risks and kicks and adrenaline, endangering him in the process.

You get him into the classes he needs to take, and into those he _wants_ to take. You make sure he can do all his practical courses as sooner as possible, and you tell him what is important, and what is not.

Actually it is pretty blatant favouritism, but since you are his advisor, and he your only advisee, and you make sure you never teach him, you do not really care.

Also, he actually does all the hard work that comes with your efforts and the other instructors see and appreciate that, so nobody says anything on the matter.

Whenever you are done preparing your own classes and helping him with his schedule you spend a lot of time visiting your ship, checking on her process, and after that you hide behind piles of psychology books, trying to find a way to get him out of his hole. You can see that it is working, that he is beginning to trust you. That he is opening up enough for you to get to know the _real_ Kirk and that he is beginning to want to get to know you, too.

And the more you learn about him, about the young man behind the façade, the farther he breaks down your own walls. It actually scares you a little, or rather a lot, when you realize that; because being all distanced professionalism and commanding competence is what has kept you from making friends in the past 23 years, making friends as important to you as George had been, only to lose them again.

It is what has kept you _alive_.

Probably it is just fair, you think, that Kirk has the same effect on you that you are so desperately trying to have on him. And you know very well that you do need help as well, however, so far you have met no one who could or would offer it, and you definitely do not want to burden an already troubled child with your problems. Kirk is no child, though, he is a young man, hiding behind a childish, defiant, _randy_ persona, and he is very well capable of helping you. You are not sure, however, whether he knows that. Or _wants_ to do it.

You watch him, during all those hours he spends in your office, when you are trying to support him in one way or the other. And you realize that Jim Kirk tearing down your walls is especially dangerous, even more than if it were anyone else . There is something to him, something that might end _very_ badly, in so much more than feelings of friendship, and you cannot let that happen.

There is no way you are going to allow yourself a weakness like that. You are already way too fond of him as it is.

Also, he is your student. You may not be a Starfleet Officer known for going along with regulations; however, there are some lines you would never cross. Which is easiest if you just do not let your emotions get out of control enough for even the slightest temptation to come up.

You are lucky, you suppose, that this only arises as an issue when Kirk is already well into his third year at the Academy. Your ship is due to be ready for her maiden voyage rather sooner than later, and with his struggle with the _Kobayashi Maru_ test it is highly unlikely that he will be joining you when you go back out in the black. Which is probably for the better anyway, although you cannot help that sinking feeling in your stomach whenever you think of not seeing him for a long time.

Sometimes you ponder whether you should hate him.

He has made your life so much more complicate, with those stupid, inappropriate feelings adding to your baggage; feelings for a man you should want to call a son rather than a lover. Then, though, you always remind yourself that he has made your life so much easier to bear, too. You think about all those nights that you have dreamt about him, harmless little dreams of happiness, instead of about huge dark ships and dying friends. You think about how he is better than adrenaline now.

You think about how it _soothes_ you whenever the two of you are sitting in your office, just talking about everything and anything.

It still scares you, but you accept it.

After all Jim Kirk is the only one who has drawn an honest, _real_ smile onto your lips in the last 23 years, and that is something you will never forget.

* * *

The distress call comes in sometime during Kirk and Spock's heated discussion.

You are one of the first to find out about _what_ is wrong, for you are told that you are to board your barely finished ship immediately, and take a crew mostly made of _cadets_ with you.

Half of the crew you had intended for the _Enterprise_, handpicked every single member, just like Robau had handpicked you and George back then, are still off and away on other ships. So you are supposed to take a ship that is not yet fully equipped with a crew that has never worked together, most of them not having _any_ real experience, into a distress situation. The problem sounds like one easy to solve, however, you have seen what can happen in perfectly stable situations if the unthinkable decides to pay you a visit.

Well, at least you have Spock as your First Officer. You know that he is a genius, and the best man for the job. Also, you trust that he has chosen the best cadets within those few minutes he had been given.

You are going out with the best possible crew you can have at the moment.

Well, almost.

The best possible crew except for _Kirk_. Somehow, you are relieved that he is suspended. That you get to keep him out of danger. Still, he is the only cadet you have ever worked together with, and one of the few people you know you really can rely on. Moreover, you also know what he can do. He is not here, though, and you will have to get by with what you have got.

So you put up a nice face and welcome everyone on the bridge, painfully aware of the number of cadets on your ship all the time. For a last moment you think about him, and about how disappointed he probably is. What that may mean for the progress the two of you have made.

Then you give yourself over to the kicks and the adrenaline.

* * *

Kirk suddenly storming onto your bridge is like a kick in the gut.

He should not be here, and seeing him throws you off balance more than it should. Also, you are ridiculously relieved to have him here. Most of all, though, you are angry. Because he _should not be here_, dammit, and you cannot have him go back to being a cheeky bastard fucking with any rule in sight, not now, not when you _need_ him. You push those thoughts to the back of your mind, and argue with him, and Spock chips in, and McCoy, and then he tells you that Vulcan is under attack.

And you think you can feel your heart stop because the moment he begins to explain you come to the same conclusion, and it takes all of your self-control not to freak out.

Memories you have been trying to suppress for more than two decades come rushing up, and it is only his presence that keeps you from panicking. At the same time, though, your fear for _his life_ is trying to paralyze you. With a lot of effort you pull yourself together, and take charge. You promote Uhura, because she _is_ the best, and you make sure the ship, your crew, _Kirk_, are protected as well as possible.

Then, for those few seconds before you drop out of warp, you try to prepare yourself for fighting your very own very real demons.

This is your chance to be the hero.

This is your chance to revenge George.

This is your chance to protect _Jim_.

You just hope that you will be able to do all of those.

Then disaster is all over you.

* * *

You see the wreckage parts floating around just outside Vulcan's atmosphere right before your very eyes, and fortunately you are way too occupied with coordinating the dodging manoeuvres to think about the fact that most of the crew on those other ships were just cadets, part of which _you_ recruited, or the fact that not _you_, but a simple, stupid mistake of your pilot is what has saved your own ship and crew from the same fate.

Instead you busy yourself with saving your ship, and worrying about that small collision, until you freeze.

Because your worst nightmare has suddenly become reality again.

The ship is there, in front of you, huge and dark and you can almost see George's and Robau's names written onto the massive hull. For a few moments you can just stare, and you know what this means:

You really have led your crew into certain death, have led _Jim_ into certain death.

For despite the fact that the _Enterprise_ is much more advanced than the _Kelvin_ had been, there is still no way you will be able to keep up against that kind of weaponry. They are locking torpedoes on you, and you take two hits, which almost take you down. Another one, and you will be gone.

Yet, although you are facing your worst nightmare, you are acting in all ways Spock wants to teach cadets with the _Kobayashi Maru_ test. You are keeping control, of yourself and everyone else, and are probably much cooler than anyone else would be in your position, even without the baggage. Well. Risks and kicks and adrenaline, remember? For you are certainly high on adrenaline now. Even in the face of certain death.

However, Jim does not believe in no-win-scenarios, and he is aboard, so probably you should not be surprised that suddenly you are being hailed instead of being shot at.

And then you see _him_ for the first time.

_Captain_ Nero.

The _murderer_ of your best friend.

His voice alone, the way he calls you _Christopher_, makes your insides churn. Still you keep your voice as calm as possible, offering him a way out. As if he were the one at your mercy, and not the other way round. He talks to Spock, then, and in the end you are asked to come aboard his ship.

The _Narada_.

Just like Robau all those years ago.

Yes, this probably really is your chance to be the hero. To do the _right_ thing, even if it is fucking damn hard to do it. Fate has a wicked humour. That you should die almost in the same way you wish you had died back then is cruelly ironical. Still, you know you have got no choice. Not with Jim aboard, and not with the way your conscience has fed on dark thoughts of _what if_ for so many years.

Jim is the first to speak up, squarely telling you that you cannot go, or you will die. It actually warms your heart, and makes the prospect of going onto that ship a little less terrifying.

Of course you will be doing it.

Already hurrying towards the shuttle you make up an impromptu plan, giving all necessary last-minute instructions. You sorely hope that Jim, Sulu and Olsen will be enough to stop that drill. You also hope that Jim will survive. And maybe, just a little, you hope that you will make it out this whole ordeal alive. You do not dwell on that, though.

Instead you tell the three variables of your plan what they have to do, trying not to imagine all the ways this could go wrong. All the terrible deaths Jim could die, because of you.  
_Jim_.

You know that placing him on the away team was the right decision.

Jim needs something to do, or he will have Spock seething within seconds. You also know that he can take care of himself, and hold his own even in the dirtiest bar brawl. You promote him to First Officer, too. If you do not return, you want the _Enterprise_ in Jim's hands. Also, you are convinced that he realizes that you sending him down to get rid of that drill is not punishment, but offering him a chance.

Still, you know that if he does not make it, _his_ blood will be on your hands as well.

Well.

You do not really expect to live long enough to ever find out about the success of your plan.

Summoning all your self-control, you send them off with a simple "Good luck." There is nothing more you could say that would not be inappropriate, or threaten to compromise the mission.

Then you are alone.

* * *

You steer the shuttle into that dark terrible hull opening for you, and closing again when you are in. You feel trapped, and you land your shuttle next to another one, much older than the one that was deemed worthy of the _Enterprise_. Bile is rising in your throat, and it is only your goddamn _panic_ that keeps you from throwing up.

Just like Robau did, you step out of your shuttle and simply stare at the interior of your very real nightmare.

Your heart rate accelerates too; however, no one is monitoring it. They are with Jim and the other two, and that is just how it should be.

Suddenly there are two Romulans in front of you, guns pointed at your head, motioning for you to follow a third one. And you do, of course, since you do not really have a choice. You suspect that they will lead you to their Captain, and that he will kill you just like he killed Robau. And you are scared, of course you are. Humans are made to fear death, and despite all your baggage and those stupid _what ifs_ your survival instinct is still very much alive.

You know that you have made the right choice, though. You certainly do not want to die, not now that you have just begun to take a liking to living again.

Still. It gives you some kind of peace to know that you can be the hero, too. That you are strong enough to choose death if necessary.

You are surprised when you are lead into some kind of chamber instead of the bridge, whatever that may look like, and indicated at to lie down on some bench. You are strapped to it then, and for a moment you are afraid that they might rape you.

Then, however, they leave and you realize that you are not placed in the right position for being raped. Not at the moment, anyway.

* * *

You are not alone for long.

Nero returns, and explains his reasons. The man is mad, mad with pain, but you still try to talk to him. After all, you have got baggage, too. He does not want to be helped, though, and in the end you are just disgusted. He just committed genocide, and is planning to do so again and again. There is nothing you have to say to him. Nothing you will tell him by your own choice.

You see it in his eyes, then, that he is going to get those frequencies anyway, and _fuck_ you are scared.

Your contract never said anything about torture.

The Centaurian slug is not what you expected. Emotional pain you can endure, you have done so for almost the last three decades. Physical pain you could take as well. However, there is nothing you have to offer as defence against a slug latching onto your brainstem.

Getting your mouth forced open hurts like hell, and every inch of your body tries to fight, to escape, to get away from that slug that is being dropped into your mouth never the less. The revolting animals seems to be fucking efficient, since within seconds it has forced its way into your nervous system, digging its mandibles into your neurons and forcing you into painful spasms.

You try to resist, try to fight against that toxin, but you know that, inevitably, you will lose in the end.

Also, it hurts like hell.

* * *

You are left alone again after Nero has gotten his information. Fortunately they have taken the slug out before leaving.

The pain is still there, though.

You have lost all sense of time alone in that dark chamber, your limbs still trembling from time to time and your whole body seeming to be on fire. The toxins, you remember. They are all over your nervous system now. How the molecules are being transported across the synaptic clefts you could not tell, but that is your least problem at the moment.

That damn _thing_ had its mandibles, or whatever they would be called on molluscs, in your fucking _brain_. Which, kindly, is still working well enough to provide you with information about what that will probably mean.

The brainstem is made up of three parts: the medulla oblongata, the pons, and midbrain. The latter is responsible for transmitting excitations to the Cerebrum or motor neurons. One source of possible future problems. The pons conducts sensory signals up into the thalamus, a relay station. The medulla oblongata connects the brain to the spiral cord, and is responsible for several functions of the autonomous nervous system, including respiration, cardiac centre and vasomotor centre.

God, right now you hate the fact that you were such a damn overachiever.

You are lying there, thinking of every possible disability that could have come with this. Awesome, just awesome. It is mostly quiet in your chamber, and you are cold, and scared, and in pain. There seems to be some turmoil from time to time, but you do not care.

Still, you suppose you should not be surprised when suddenly Jim shows up, shooting a Romulan who had been placed next to his rack just a minute ago, and immediately setting to undoing the shackles. He is pretty occupied with it, though, and you are very thankful for that sudden adrenaline rush that has come with Jim's presence, for it enables you to pay attention to your surroundings, seeing two Romulans sneaking up in time, and shooting them with his gun.

Sitting up hurts like hell.

Standing hurts even more.

However, it is _Jim_ who is holding you, Jim who has come for your rescue, and you know that will go through a lot of pain if it means that you will make it back to the _Enterprise_, and that he will be save.

Only moments later you are being beamed out and then there is McCoy, and a nurse, and Jim is gone, doing his captainly duties. You, in the meantime, are being whisked off to sickbay, fortunately in a wheelchair. Standing, let alone trying to walk, had really been agonizing. Lying is a relief, although it hurts as well. Not long, though, and a hypo is being pushed against your neck.

Then you are out cold.

* * *

Waking up sucks.

You have had many bad nights when waking up was the best thing that could happen, when it meant the end of another gruesome nightmare.

Now, however, you would choose the nightmare over the pain in your whole body, over the thrumming of your head, and over the immediately returning memories. You try to move, but quickly change your mind about that. However, your throat is feeling like sandpaper, and you would _really_ like to drink some water.

Suddenly McCoy is there, and helps you with sitting up, and the water, and tells you everything. That they managed to neutralize the toxin and repair most of the neural damage, which means that you will not be completely paralyzed. It does not mean that the pain will go away. You receive the news better than everyone thought, including yourself, because you want to live now, want your sacrifice to have been worth something. You do not want Nero to win, and you do not want to give up. You know that you are hero material now, or rather could have been, and that is enough. It changes a lot about the way you think about yourself, and about what you are planning to do.

First of all: go through a hell lot of therapy, to get your body into the best possible shape. The faster, the better.

McCoy also tells you about what has happened on the _Enterprise_ while you were aboard the _Narada_; and also after you had been beamed back and put under. Actually you are really glad that you missed all the action. Being almost sucked into a black hole surely is nightmare material as well, and you definitely have enough of that already.

Some of the admirals talk to you, too, and change the frequencies after you tell them about the Centaurian slug. They also discuss the future of your ship with you, and you tell them that they have to choose Jim as Captain. That Jim is the only one you will let yourself relieved by. After all, she was your ship, and you have to give her away after only such little time. You at least want her to have the best possible Captain. Also, Jim has really earned this. They give in surprisingly quickly, and you are not sure whether that is because you have done what was right, or because they think you are disabled now.

You do not really care, though.

Most of your crew come to visit you as well, over the course of the next weeks, which you mostly spend in agonizing therapy. You have never listened to your body when it has told you that you have reached your own limits. You are not doing so now, either.

Many of those who come you have never seen, too short was your time as Captain. All of them have a few nice words for you, though, and you talk about their positions, and their pasts, and their dreams.

The only one who never comes is Jim.

It hurts, actually. A lot. During those hours strapped to a rack you have lost all control over your emotions, and when he was the one who saved you, coming back for you despite the fact that he did not know whether you were still alive, that he took the risk and the beatings, you basically lost yourself, too.

You love him.

You have done so for three years, however, you have always managed to bury those feelings, and to forget them. You are good at ignoring your own mind, the nightmares have taught you that. Now that your love has broken to the surface, though, there is no way you can force it back under.

You wish that he would come to see you, to tell you that he cares for you, too, but he never does, and the first time you see him again is the day you are handing over your ship to him. Your brand new ship, the one you had watched being built for years. Your ship that needed to be brought to the shipyard for immense repairs.

This means that he will venture out into the black again way too soon, and that then you will probably lose him once and for all.

Yet you smile at him, and shake his hand. You do not begrudge him your ship. After all it is him, and he is the only one you would not begrudge her.

Still, when you see him there, standing in front of you, mask gone for the first time in front of a crowd, but still so very distant, you cannot help but bring his father into the equation again. Because this fucking damn hurts.

You see it in his eyes, that the comment stings.

He turns away from you, though, and takes his applause. Smiling.

That night is the first time you cry for another reason than having lost your best friend.

* * *

More than half a year passes until you see him again.

And then you have to tell him that he cannot keep playing god, and that you have to take the ship away from him again.

Oh, yes, you did try _everything_ to make the chair let him keep her, but there was no way. Now you are the one who has to tell him. Once again it takes all of your self-control to deliver your message in the way it should be delivered. Because no matter how much you love him, what he has been doing was wrong, and he has to stop.

You can tell within the first two seconds that he is back to hiding behind a mask. It is a little different from the one he use to wear, and he seems to be happier with this one than he had been with the old one. And fuck, yes, it hurts that he is not only not listening to you, not _talking_ to you, but that he obviously feels the need to protect himself from you. It hurts like hell. Well, you have already gotten used to the fact that any thought about him, his absence, his distance hurts. You can take this. You just have to make him understand, so that he can play nice, and get the _Enterprise_ back as soon as possible.

Because you surely know that you cannot play Captain for long.

The chair has no idea how bad off you really are. It is just like McCoy said. The pain never really went away. You can move almost as well as you used to, after that hell lot of therapy, although your muscles tire fast. However, every movement of your legs, your spine, your head, sets your nerves on fire. If you move deliberately, not too much at a time, it is easily bearable.

Captaining a starship, however, will include way too much moving for you to stick it out for long.

You are willing to try, though. For Jim.

For Jim, who you are incredibly angry at. He is not listening to you, trying to talk himself out of this, trying to make you see his point, and not once listening to yours. He is not looking at you either, not really, and his mask is firm in place. You think about saying something that might shake him enough for you to get through, now that you have thrown Spock out, something really personal, but you do not know how much the real Jim has changed, and he clearly does not want you inside his walls. You are not going to impose yourself.

So instead you say all those things the chair has told you to say, and you actually yell, and you feel your heart break repeatedly. What hurts more, Jim's distant demeanour, or the desperation in his eyes when you tell him that the ship will be taken from him, you cannot say.

He storms off afterwards, when he has recovered himself, without being dismissed, but you do not comment on it. Instead you begin to make a list of the bars that you might find him in.

It is not exactly difficult to make a decision about which one to try first.

You really do know him well.

Watching him flirt with that pretty young thing but one chair from him makes your stupid heart ache yet again, and of course you choose said chair completely coincidentally. You tell him that you managed to convince Marcus to give the _Enterprise_ back to you, and that he is going to be your First Officer. You tell him that you believe in him.

He is staring at you with an expression you cannot read, and all the time you are painfully aware of that pretty young thing still sitting next to you. She really is beautiful.

You, however, are not.

Maybe you used to be, a very long time ago. Before the baggage came along, and before a slug latched onto your brain. You are old now, your hair is greying and there are more wrinkles in your face than smooth skin. You have also acquired a few pretty ugly scars on your back, along your spine, that came with the surgeries after the torture.

And you are weak.

Why would he ever want to be with you anyway?

* * *

You are not sure whether to be proud that Jim, unlike all the others, including you, understood that this was a trap, or be terrified about what that means.

Terrified wins in the end, because you are being shot at, and suddenly lots of memories are coming up, slowing you down, and your adrenaline is gone, having left you behind. Your muscles are cramping, you have lost your cane and, after that day, are no longer able to keep yourself upright.

You fall to the floor and then you are shot to the chest, but you do not really feel it, because your nerves are already on fire.

You do feel the pain, however, when it is Spock who pulls you out of the line of fire.

Spock, not Jim.

You are losing blood fast, even you can tell that, too fast, but by now you are basically unable to move. Maybe it is a good thing now that Spock is the one who is there, for he has the sense to press his hands against the wound, trying to slow down the bleeding. The shot has missed your heart, but grazed your lungs, and it keeps getting harder to breathe.

Suddenly Jim is there, shock clearly written across his face. You are too tired, however, to care.

Only Spock telling you, _demanding_ of you not to stop looking at him is what keeps you from closing your eyes long enough for the medical personnel to arrive.

Jim is crying.

* * *

You hate life.

Really, by now every will to live you had regained when Jim saved you from Nero has faded into nothingness. You remember thinking that fate has a really wicked humour, and can only agree with yourself.

You are locked in a small white room in Starfleet Medical Headquarters, bound to the bed and only sporadically seeing doctors and nurses, nobody else. This brings back lots of bad memories and you spend quite a lot of time panicking, and very little time sleeping. Since you are confined to lying your neural damage is not bothering you too much. Neither is your lung, which is long healed.

Your baggage, however, is becoming heavier by the day, and you have no idea how long you will be able to stand this before your first suicide attempt. Not that it would work, after all you are shackled.

Still.

You have no idea about what is going on outside your room, no idea why you are kept in here, no idea how long you have been here, no idea what has happened. No idea whether Jim is still alive.

The doctors and nurses do not talk to you, and you are not allowed any kind of diversion.

You have lost all track of time, and begin to think that everyone must have forgotten about you.

That is when your door is suddenly rammed open without a warning and Jim is standing in the frame breathing heavily and staring at you disbelievingly.

"You're alive," he finally says, after endless minutes of silence.

You raise an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You… because… _Marcus_-" and suddenly there is a white-hot, bitter rage burning in his beautiful eyes. He screams, and pounds his fist against the wall. You think you hear the word _bastard_, but you cannot be entirely sure.

Jim visibly tries to pull himself back together then, breathing deeply in order to calm down. Then he stares at you again, and there are tears in his eyes. After two strides he is standing next to your bed, bending down to undo the straps, and suddenly you know the definition of déjà vu. He helps you sit up once again, and you enjoy stretching yourself, despite the pain shooting up and down your spine.

"What happened?" you want to ask, but then McCoy steps into the room as well, immediately taking away the tubes and turning down the machines.

Confined to bed meant being fed via IV, and not having to use the toilet.

You feel a lot better then, although you are still highly confused. By what has happened, and by the fact that Jim is here, so many emotions on his face.

They do not give you any chance to ask your questions, though. McCoy gives you a quick check-up and then proper clothes are being pressed into your hands, before you are shown the next shower. You hesitate for a moment, but then decide to wash the grime of. You use the sonic shower, because you are way too impatient for the water way, and slip into your clothes as quickly as the pain allows. Within ten minutes you are back in the corridor, where Jim is waiting with your cane.

He smiles at you, looking terribly uncertain, and offers you his arm as additional support. "Come," he says. "We'll get out of here. Then I can tell you everything."

McCoy leads you through an endless number of white hallways and when they reach the front door, and Jim's car, you are ridiculously relieved that you can sit down. The pain you can live with, but walking does not only hurt. It seems your muscles have deteriorated pretty impressively over the time you have spent in that room. Just how long has it been?

Jim drops McCoy off and then drives you to a pretty house just outside of San Francisco. You take the elevator to the top floor and he smiles sheepishly. "Wanted to be as close to the stars as possible."

He steers you into an actually really comfortable armchair, pressing a glass of water into your hands and drops a plate with a piece of cake on the small side table. Then he sits down across from you, and returns to staring. Surprised, you realize that his mask is gone. However, you have no idea how to interpret the myriad of emotions flickering across his face.

"What happened?" you finally ask, breaking the silence.

He smiles at you, but it is pathetically forced.

And then he tells you everything. About how Marcus had talked him into trying to track Khan down, about the battle with the Klingons, and the battle aboard the _Vengeance_, and his own death.

Of course the last is what shocks you most. Still, one question is too pressing to keep it. "Why were you made Captain of the _Enterprise_ without ever relieving me?"

Jim gulps, and looks away, and gulps again. The tears in his eyes are back, and his fists are clenched. "Marcus told everyone you were dead," he finally explains. "That you did not make it. It… was why I agreed to go hunting Khan, and killing him without a trial. Because I thought that he had killed _you_. Actually we thought you were dead for weeks, until Bones stumbled across a discrepancy in some medical documents. He asked those involved, then, and found out that you were alive, but locked away. The medical staff had not been told a reason, just what they had to do, and they had done it. We immediately came for you when we found out."

Now you are staring at him. "How… how long… was I… locked away?" You have to force the question out. Yes, this is a hell lot of new baggage. Just awesome.

Jim gulps again. "Three months," he answers.

You gasp for air, moving too fast, and your spine is throwing a fit. However, you almost do not even notice it. Jim seems to be unable to look you in the eye, and you want to know why, _need_ him to _fucking look at you_-"

"I'm sorry," he suddenly says. "I knew what Marcus did. I should have considered the fact that he might have lied about you too, playing me like a damn puppet. I should have tried to find out what happened to you. Find a grave, or whatever… after all I was out cold for quite some time. I didn't, though. I thought… I couldn't… I wouldn't have been able to handle it. A grave, I mean. Or… anything, really. Actually I was just busy forgetting about you."

Never has he been so open.

You smile. "It was not your fault," you say, because of course it was not. Quite obviously, it was Marcus' fault. And anyway, you are here now. Which reminds you of something else. Oh damn, the unpleasant questions just keep coming. However, you know you have to ask that one. This seems like the perfect opportunity, and you just have to know.

"Jim?"

"Yes?" He is looking at you nervously.

You are nervous, too. "After… Nero. You… It meant a lot to me that, before, I finally got to know you. The real you. But after you… saved me… you suddenly locked me out again. Why?"

He is fidgeting. "You… are not going to like the answer," he warns.

You smile. "I think I can deal with that." No, probably you cannot.

He is squirming in his chair. "I… kinda… fell for you?" he offers sheepishly. "It was all awkward and inappropriate, but you were the first person who really cared about me, and… well. You were patient and nice and everything I needed. You were kind of irresistible, actually." He blushes, then, and you think that he is irresistible as well. What he says is too good to be true, though, _has_ to be, but you listen to it anyhow. "While you were on the _Narada_… I was terrified. I almost couldn't think clearly, and I knew how dangerous that was. Also, I didn't think I could take a rejection. Too much emotional baggage already." You actually laugh at that. He looks a little hurt, and confused, but you motion for him to continue. "So… I… did the only thing I could think of. I tried to block you out, and get the hang of my emotions. Not that it really worked, and when I thought you had died… I regretted a lot of things."

He is staring out of the window now, obviously not daring to look at you.

You are still not sure whether you can believe this. Your smile is suspiciously soft, though, as is your voice. "Do you have any idea," you ask quietly "how much of my own baggage is your fault?"

He turns his head then, clearly confused.

You sigh. "I'm an old broken man," you say. "Starfleet shrinks suck. I never got over George and the _Kelvin_, despite their numerous but exceedingly pathetic attempts. I was all mask and doubt. Until you came along. And suddenly I found a purpose in my life. You _intrigued_ me, Jim, and I was so incredibly happy about every little bit you opened up to me. I managed to ignore my stupid feelings for you until only shortly before Vulcan was destroyed, and when I admitted them to myself it blew my bubble. Going onto that mission without you was not exactly easy, but then you were there, where you shouldn't have been, and I knew there was one person on my bridge I knew better than anyone else. That you had to save me later on, like a fucking damsel in distress… well. I could live with that. That you ignored me afterwards, though, that hurt like shit."

He is staring at you again, eyes huge and disbelieving and _happy_.

"You… love me back?" he asks and there is so much wonder in his voice that it hurts. Yes, his baggage is pretty impressive, too.

"I do," you answer softly.

"And… you… would you… be with me?" You have never seen him that insecure. It makes your heart beat faster, for it shows how much this really means to him.

"I'm an old and broken man," you warn him, again.

"I don't care!"

"I doubt that." Your smile is sincere. "Still. If you want to share your baggage and carry some of mine instead I'm all yours."

He laughs then, relieved and delighted and like a thousand suns rising over your pitch black soul. Within the blink of an eye he has moved from his chair to yours and now is kneeling in front of you, eyes so very bright. Hesitatingly he reaches for one of your hands, and then dares to let his fingers run down your scrubby jawline. You let him choose the pace, and tightly squeeze the fingers of his other hand. The one that is still capturing yours.

Your eyes lock then, and, very slowly, he angles his head a little, leaning forward in order to kiss you. You meet him halfway, and, oh, this is _your_ dream coming true. You were never looking for a perfect little family, like George was. Just for someone who would love you unconditionally.

* * *

Later you are lying in Jim's bed, both of you still fully clothed. This is way too important to rush things. Jim is the one who is resting his head on your chest, not the other way round, because your spine would refuse that.

You have told him everything about the neural damage, and at first he had been shocked. It had taken you a while to convince him that you were very capable of moving on your own, that you were not _fucking disabled_ but never, not once, had he swayed in his decision to be with you. In the end you agreed to just count it as baggage as well.

Jim sighs, his breathing matching yours. It is cheesy, really, but you could not care less.

"I still can't believe it," he mumbles. "I've been dreaming about this for so long… what if I wake up and it's just another dream? What if you're really dead, and my sorrowful mind has just made this up? I don't think I could handle that."

"I'm feeling very real, thank you," you say and pinch him. "But I know what you mean. I suppose we'll just have to… let it sink in. Get used to it."

He lifts his head and smiles a smile bright enough to illuminate the _Enterprise_. "I'd like that."

* * *

He has been unusually quiet all day. In the evening you finally manage to corner him, and make him spill.

"They… asked me to do a five year mission," he admits, giving in. Oh, you have already been expecting that, the _Enterprise_ is almost back to good as new. This cannot be everything, though.

For a second he hesitates, before he adds, quietly: "Will you be waiting here for me?"

You grin. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you'll accept me aboard your ship instead."


End file.
